On Winter's Moon
by storytelllaur
Summary: Woodie's miscalculated things, and badly. He just can't seem to remember that his curse works differently, now. But it turns out he's got a friend out there in the cold with him; someone willing to help with both getting him back to safety, and dealing with a certain survivor once he gets there. [Oneshot, Woodie/Wilson if you squint.]


**A/N: This is a oneshot I wrote for the Don't Starve Secret Santa event of 2016. It was posted on my Tumblr, but I've decided to port it here. The person I got for the event requested "anything Woodie" but especially enjoyed Woodie and Wilson cuteness, which I got into because of someone I was roleplaying with. So...here you go!**

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It had been a pretty good plan, at least he'd thought. He'd be out of camp for the first full moon of winter, he'd stay out for a bit, dig up enough supplies for a fire for when he came back, then he'd head back to the others, and no one would be the wiser.

Unfortunately, it was very difficult to keep plans that complex in his head when he was…not human anymore. Indeed, the only thing that had been on the beast's mind had been _eat as much wood as physically possible_ –a holdover from how the curse had worked _before_ the portal had changed the mechanics around.

But things _had_ changed. He'd run to a birchnut forest far up to the north, decimated a good quarter of it, and then unexpectedly turned back–and he _really_ did not feel well.

The poor Canadian wasn't entirely aware of what had happened at first–just that he was cold and his head hurt. The lumberjack groaned loudly, rolling over in the snow and curling up tightly on his side, trying to block out the ringing and the whispers that seemed to flood his ears.

"L-Luce? Come on, speak up…"

Usually he managed to return to wherever he'd left his beloved axe by the time he changed back, and she'd either berate him for overdoing it on the wood-chopping or go on and on about how relieved she was they'd made it through another full moon, depending on the circumstances. It'd become a comforting constant to the whole nasty business he was stuck in.

But she wasn't there. Things weren't right.

Woodie struggled to sit up, and blinked, looking around blearily. He was in a deciduous forest, he could tell from the trees (thick white bark with soft, light brown inside, kind of a nutty taste to them, needed salt). It was early afternoon, the barest suggestion of sunlight peeking through thick gray clouds overhead. And it was snowing–pretty heavily.

And it was very cold.

It wasn't like he wasn't used to rough winters, cold weather, and nasty storms; that was just part and parcel of winter up in the north. But he'd found winters in this place were more bitter, more dangerous, and even colder than anywhere back home. And he admittedly hadn't been wearing his best winter flannel when he'd been taken to this place. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to get his feet under him.

Oh, he was lost. He was lost and had nothing on him. Camp was to the south, right? Or had he gotten turned around at some point? It was much easier to get his bearings after one of these when the ground wasn't covered in a sheet of snow that made everything look the same…and when Lucy was there. Without Lucy, he felt like part of himself was gone, like he couldn't think clearly. It made him feel uncomfortably fluttery and panicky on the inside.

Didn't help that he could see the shadow beings. Woodie began to walk, boots crunching through the snow, trying to ignore them–they weren't real, his head just tended to play tricks on him, especially after turning. Sure, they came after him and hurt him sometimes–that one in particular, that tick thing, it was following pretty closely and seemed to be staring at him–but they weren't anything to worry about. Nothing to worry about…

He'd get back to camp by night. He knew he would!…Hopefully.

And hopefully he could get a fire before he froze to death. What a way for a good Northerner to go. No, sir–he would _not_ be doing that, no imaginary demons or cold could take a stout Canadian down so easily–

 _"We sing through dark, of coldest night; we sing through chill of dawn…"_

Woodie's head whipped around, and thick brows rose at the sound of somebody very quietly singing, and thick footsteps through the snow. He squinted through the flakes that conspired to block his vision to see a figure not too far from him, heading towards the trees where he'd stopped his feasting, carrying an axe over his shoulder.

The figure had a hat on, but the oddly triangle-shaped head and shaggy beard was a dead giveaway–it was a friend! Woodie sighed in relief and quickly began walking, waving an arm.

"Eh, Wilson!"

The person in the snow jumped with a familiar squeak, and spun to face him, holding his axe in a fighting stance. Given that Woodie was about a foot taller, he wasn't all that intimidated.

Wilson eventually seemed to recognize the figure barreling towards him, and lowered his axe. "Woodie? Oh thank goodness, we were looking everywhere for you!" The scientist tilted his head, frowning, "Why didn't you take anything with you for the cold?"

Woodie winced, "Long story. Just, er…do you have enough to get up a fire? Sorry…"

"Certainly, certainly."

Wilson tossed down the axe blade-first into the snow–Woodie flinched at the precious implement's mistreatment–and knelt to the ground, the little ball of brown fur that was Chester hopping up beside him and bouncing eagerly as it 'saw' Woodie. Wilson quickly got a roaring campfire started in the snow, and Woodie gratefully moved to sit by it, only then realizing how badly he'd been shaking.

"Thank you."

"No trouble." Wilson sat down opposite him, giving him a look that made the lumberjack rather uncomfortable.

"So, you were…lookin' for me, eh?"

"Of course we were. You just sort of ran off last night, we were worried."

Woodie waved a hand with a strained smile, "It's all right. No need to be worrying about me."

"Winters are brutal here. You know that as well as I do. We need to stick together, especially now."

Woodie shifted a bit uncomfortably; he was a mostly solitary man, didn't really like getting asked a ton of questions. Made him nervous. Didn't help that the shadowy figures that still followed him out of the corners of his eyes were drawing closer.

"Woodie?"

Woodie jumped a bit, "Eh?"

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"…Fine."

Wilson tilted his head and frowned in a way that told Woodie that he didn't believe him, but he nodded all the same. "Do you need any food?"

"N-no."

"Are you warm enough to head back to camp?"

"Er…"

Well, he was, technically, but he didn't really _want_ to head back to camp, not right now–

The distant sound of something hissing at him broke his train of thought. His eyes went wide and he craned his head around to see that one of the shadowy tick creatures had its gaping maw open impossibly wide in a nearly-silent battle cry. Woodie got to his feet and staggered back, nearly falling into the fire as he watched it approach, looking _definitely_ hostile.

"Woodie? What is it?"

Woodie swallowed hard, trying to keep on backing away from the creature, his breathing coming in heavy, thick puffs in the air. The thing moved towards him slowly, before lunging at him and clamping its 'teeth' into his chest.

It felt like something cold was being driven through him that made him feel every single thing he'd ever been afraid of, and he yelped and staggered back. He saw Wilson jump to his feet and snatch up his axe, staring in alarm.

"Where is it? Where is it! Point at it!"

Woodie dodged back as the creature took another lunge, throwing up one arm to point directly at it without asking questions. With a high-pitched battle cry, Wilson leapt at it, swinging his axe wildly until it seemed to somehow connect with the creature's body.

"Get behind me!"

Again, Woodie didn't bother to ask, dodging around the creature and running behind Wilson, hands clutching his head in pain. He heard Wilson swinging the axe again, shouting for the thing to go back to where it came from.

The next minute or so was a blur, and Woodie didn't react to anything until Wilson shoved something towards his face.

"Eat it! _Eat it!"_

Woodie blinked, staring at the green thing in Wilson's hand. He dully recognized what it was and grabbed it with shaking hands, shoving it in his mouth.

The cooked green-cap burned on the way down, but it seemed to relieve some of the pressure in his head, and as he looked around at the other shadows that the fight had attracted, they became more transparent and seemed to lose interest in him.

Woodie slumped to his knees in relief, wiping his forehead with the back of a plaid sleeve. Wilson also plopped himself down in the snow next to him, catching his breath.

Wilson handed Woodie another green-cap. Woodie ate it gratefully, and his vision began to clear up.

He should probably say something.

"Uh…thanks, buddy."

Wilson sighed, "You should've told me before if you were going mad. _They_ are absolutely ruthless if your head's gone soft…"

Woodie didn't like the way Wilson emphasized 'they'–it was the same way the magician Maxwell did, and it made the word carry an eerie foreboding to it that he didn't want to think about too hard.

There was a long silence between them. Wilson eventually offered Woodie a morsel of meat. Woodie thanked him quietly and shoved it in his mouth. Wilson stoked the fire with another log. Woodie said nothing.

Truthfully, he felt a little embarrassed and awkward about all of this. He didn't want to be a burden on anyone, really, especially the poor little scientist–Woodie knew the look of someone who'd been through a lot, and god only knew what they'd all seen before the portal had brought them together. He liked the little guy, honestly, even if science made him uncomfortable. The man was nice and polite and had this aura of someone who _knew_ things about him. He kept his head up, despite everything that had happened. Woodie could appreciate it.

Still didn't explain why the man had jumped in to save him just now, though. That was a little weird, considering they didn't know each other too well yet and neither were the social type.

"…Why did you run off with no supplies?"

Woodie thought for a few seconds.

"…Like I said, it's a bit of a long story. And, if it's all the same to you, I don't really want to get into it."

To Woodie's surprise, instead of prying, Wilson simply nodded, staring at his hands in his lap.

"Ah, I understand. I'm curious but…I know a lot of us have things we'd rather not talk about."

Aw, Woodie wanted to hug him. But that would be weird. So he settled with scooting over and patting him on the shoulder.

"Thanks."

"Are you ready to go back?"

"…No, not really."

"May I ask why?"

Another moment of thought. He supposed he had to tell someone, right? And Wilson was kind of the leader.

"…I'm not really a people person."

Wilson chuckled bitterly, "I understand completely. But we have to work together!"

"I know. And–you guys have been great, it's just…"

"What?"

Woodie hesitated a moment, "…That one hoser, the beanpole in the suit."

Wilson's expression immediately changed to one of utter disgust. " _Maxwell."_

"Yeah. Him. You know how he's been…uh…" Woodie shifted a bit, "…He's been buggin' me about stuff lately, stuff I don't want to talk about. Sorry–I don't mean you were doing anything wrong, he just won't leave it alone."

"And it's uncomfortable." Wilson scowled, mocking the man's accent, "' _Well aren't you going to sit with us tonight? Do you have somewhere important to go? That doesn't go in there, Higgsbury, you imbecile, I thought you were a man of science.'_ I understand that too. He's a jerk." His voice became quiet, as he balled his left hand into a tight fist, "More than you even _know_ …"

"I wouldn't say he's a jerk. Just needs to mind his own business, eh? He's in the same boat as the rest of us, the least he could do is be a little nicer."

Wilson waved a hand dismissively. "So is that why you don't want to go back?"

"…Maybe a bit. Figure I can make it on my own for a little while."

"You don't even have anything…"

"You don't have to worr–"

"But I _am_ worried!"

Woodie leaned back a bit at the unexpected sharpness. Wilson sighed, shaking his head, "Sorry. I'm worried about all of you and I'd like to know where all of you are. We don't need any more death, especially since _I don't know what's going on in this world anymore._ Things are different and I don't want to leave anyone out as sitting ducks for _her_ to pick off."

Woodie didn't know who the 'her' was, though he'd heard some mentions of a 'her' thrown around camp, so he pretended he understood. He knew full well he wasn't great at picking up on things, though he didn't want to hold anyone back.

"…I guess I'll go on back with you if it'll make you feel better," Woodie eventually said, reluctantly.

Wilson stared into the fading campfire for a few seconds, before looking up straight into his eyes. Woodie hadn't noticed the man's bright blue eyes before. They were very…intense.

"How about this. We go back, and I can distract Maxwell for you."

"You don't have–"

"No, no, I'll do it, I'll tell him that he has to come mining with me and by the time he gets back his old bones will be too worn out for him to think about accosting you."

Woodie knew enough about the other survivors to know that Wilson and Maxwell were mortal enemies–the fact that Wilson was offering to work with the beanpole just to get him off Woodie's back was quite touching.

"…Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure." Wilson's frown was a determined slash across his face. "He's been poking at something you've been hiding for ages now, I've noticed it. I don't know what it is you don't want to tell us, but…that needs to be your decision. When you're ready for it."

Woodie's face slowly broke into a smile under his beard. He reached out and put an arma round Wilson's shoulders, side-hugging him affectionately and causing the scientist to squeak like a dog toy.

"Thank you, buddy! That really means a lot."

"So will you go back to camp with me? Some of us have been preparing some festive things for the winter holidays, now that we're all spending one together…even if winters are a tad _different_ here."

Woodie licked his lips. Christmas meant fir trees. Lots and lots of fir trees…

"Sure I will, Mister H–"

"Just Wilson."

There was a twinkle in the Canadian's eye, "All righty, 'just Wilson'."

Wilson sighed, but chuckled, and got to his feet, Woodie following suit. To Woodie's surprise, Wilson shrugged off his puffy vest and handed it ofer to Woodie.

"You need something for the cold."

The vest, of course, didn't fit him, but he threw it around his shoulders like a cape anyway, standing up straighter and looking a little closer to his cheery self.

"Thanks."

"We're not too far away."

"All right. What was that carol you were singin' earlier, by the way? It was nice."

"Oh…Just…Something I heard in the night."

"Well come on, keep going, then. I won't stop you. Need some happiness in a place like this, eh? Oh, and by the way…"

"Yes?"

Woodie smiled and smacked Wilson on the back so hard that the little man nearly went flying.

"I like the beard you're growing out. Almost worthy of a real lumberjack!"

Wilson tried to catch the wind that had been knocked out of him, but he was smiling too. He nodded and gestured for them to get going, and the two walked off, away from the dying campfire. And Woodie wondered if maybe, just maybe, if he had this little guy on his side…maybe the reactions of everyone else to his little secret might not be so hard to bear.

 _"We don't know how we came here, we can't know when we'll leave;  
So cherish this time we have together–  
 **Happy WInter's Feast Eve.** "_


End file.
